Behind the Masks
by pensive puddles
Summary: All he wanted was to be a hero, HER hero. He wanted to sweep her off her feet, hold her close when she was scared, keep her warm when she was cold. The dream was one that put Draco to sleep at night. And maybe, just maybe he could be Hermione's hero.
1. Is it Worth It?

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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or the song _Let me be your Hero_ by Enrique Iglesias.

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Notes: A Draco/Hermione story. Lyrics are in **bold**. Thoughts and emphasized words are _italicized_--I think you can tell the difference being the smart people that you are.

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Rated: PG-13, just to be safe.

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Author: Pensive Puddles

Dedication: _Bozena_, who's always been there since my first chapter in my first story, reviewing for my stories and pitiful poems, for encouraging me to write more. This is for you, Bozy!

Behind the Masks

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Part I. Is it worth it?

By Pensive Puddles

Let me be your hero

That was all he wanted. He wanted to shine in her eyes, reflect in them when they gleamed in pleasure and joy. He wanted to make her as happy and carefree like what Potter and Weasley did to her. He wanted to hold her at night, calm away her fears whenever she dreamt of the dying faces. He knew she dreamed of them. He could always hear her moans and yells while she slept in her Head Room. They would leak into his room, keeping him awake. Her pain was his pain. _Since when did that happen?_ he thought in sad disgust.

**__**

Would you dance if I asked you to dance?

He bowed low, his cloak falling over his shoulder elegantly. His blond hair covering his face. In his most courtly, charming voice, he asked, "Can I ask you to a dance, Miss Granger?"

A slight pause in surprise. Then her face broke into a smile. She held out her hand, "I'd be honored, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco sighed, leaning back into his chair. He'd give anything for her to say yes to him, to smile at him. But they were so different. Yet, why should that stop them? Why should that stop him from asking her? The worst that could happen was that she would laugh, Potter and Weasel would beat him, his father would send him a Howler, he'd be humiliated in front of the whole school, he'd be shunned from his House…

He let out another frustrated sigh. That was his life. Draco Malfoy predicting the consequences of his actions. He'd grown up with that strategy, he'd probably die with that strategy.

He watched her as she twirled around on the dance floor. She looked gorgeous in her green dress with black trimming. It should have been silver trimming. Then she could be his Slytherin Queen. She would look so lovely on his arm. No, she was already lovely, even without her being next to him. She didn't need him.

It hurt to think about it. She never needed him for anything. She had everyone else to help her. He figured he was the last one on her list to ask for help, if on the list at all.

No, he could only admire her from afar, admiring her wavy brown hair sweep across her open back dress. The dress clutching onto her curves for support, the straps wrapped around her neck in dire need. Her brown eyes glowing in excitement. Her red lips moving whenever her melodious voice rang in soft words. And he could only watch.

Ask her to dance? How could the devil ask an angel to dance with him?

**__**

Would you run and never look back?

They could escape. They could run, run from the Wizard World, and just explore the Muggle World together. He never knew the muggle world exactly. They'd discover it together. Anywhere she'd want to go, he'd take her. He'd carry her if he had to.

"Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape barked suddenly," What is the ingredient used in the potion Helorose?"

"Trick question," Draco responded absentmindedly. He continued to gaze in a jaded manner, secretly trying to control his quick beating heart. "Helorose is a powder, not a potion. However, it is made when the moonlight touches the blood of an innocent girl, turning it into its powdery state. It's illegal now."

"And why is that?" Professor Snape demanded. He ignored the waving hand in the corner of the room, although his eyebrow twitched in annoyance. Draco chuckled inside. Only Hermione Granger could be the biggest teacher's pet and annoyance.

"Because wizards started to kill girls by the hundreds. The wizards occasionally kidnapped them, or they took orphan girls and drained their blood. If all the blood of the girl is spilled, it can produce about a pound of fine Helorose powder. It's only used in the Dark Arts," he said in a drawl.

"Of course it'd _have_ to be involved with the Dark Arts _somehow_ for you to know it, considering you're practically the son of You-Know-Who," someone snickered. It was said low, quiet, yet loud enough for Draco to hear. And it was only meant for his ears.

Unfortunately for that person, nothing seems to escape the ears of a teacher. "Mr. Weasley, I suggest that you keep your rude opinions to yourself. Detention, my office, tonight for the rest of the week, including the weekends. And 35 points from Gryffindor."

A small amount of groans where heard and Weasley's face turned a dark red, both in anger and embarrassment.

"As for your descriptive answer, Mr. Malfoy," Snape continued as if the incident with the Weasel had never happened. "45 points to Slytherin, a most satisfactory answer. Another five from Gryffindor! I suggest, _Mr. Potter_, that you stop rolling your eyes behind a teachers back."

Draco and his fellow Slytherins grinned nastily at the Gryffindors who returned it with icy glares. Even after seven years together, they could not stop hating each other. Draco snickered hollowly with his fellow classmates. He glanced at Hermione. His eyes almost seemed to travel there on their own. She was looking straight at him with a nasty little glare. He smirked, revealing a small sliver of his perfect white teeth and he winked at her. She scowled at him, glaring even fiercer as her face turned red (from rage or discomfort, he didn't know) and she turned her head away, with her nose in the air.

Would you run away with me? He asked her in his mind, reluctantly turning his head forward to listen to Snape. He answered his own question, _When hell freezes over._

Would you cry if you saw me crying?

Innocent question, anyone would ask that, would wonder. How fragile was a person? He knew she seemed fragile, yet she was unbreakable. How the two mixed together so perfect, he'd never know.

She wasn't even gorgeous, slightly pretty at most. Yet she was beautiful, in an intriguing sort of way. He didn't understand it, yet in some unexplainable way, it made sense.

He walked down the hall, hands buried deep in his pockets, his mind twisting around the thoughts of Hermione. He sighed. He really needed help.

A quiet sniffle reached his ears. He stopped, his heavy footsteps silenced abruptly in the halls. Still the whimpering continued.

Trusting his ears, he rounded a corner and peered into the dimness. Straining his eyes, he saw a hunched figure in the corner. Curiosity made his feet move towards the person. Who would cry in the hall? He wasn't in a talkative, snappish mood that day, and so he reached out and touched the sobbing person's shoulder, alerting the figure of his entrance.

She jumped, startled and looked up at him with deep, wet brown eyes. He had never seen those brown eyes look so beautiful.

Silence made the air thick, yet they did not thin it. They just stared at each other, brown eyes admiring blue and blue admiring brown. No hatred shinning in them, just sadness that was slowly departing, living a swirl of confusion and peace. It was a moment he had longed to happen, with no interruptions.

Her tears finally came to an end, drying slowly on her face. She grabbed her bags and stood up, breaking the eye contact between. Yet as she stood to her feet, she did not pass him. She stood in front of him, head bowed and looking at her brown shoes.

His hand longed to touch her skin, to test the softness. The emotion lifted his fingers to her face, wiping the crystal like tears away from her face. She glanced at him, startled and bewildered at his gentleness. He was just as flabbergasted.

"Dra--Malfoy, I have to go," she said quickly, stumbling past him and jogging down the halls, never once looking back.

He stood there moments later, eyes staring at the spot where she had retreated from him. A smile touched his lips. She may not cry for him, but she had almost called him by his first name, and that was a start.

**__**

Would you save my soul tonight?

He laid in bed that night, his chest heaving and shaking with unsteady breaths. Tears streaked down his face. His shirt was soaked with cold sweat. His hair stuck to his forehead in damp locks.

He closed his eyes, quickly opening them as he remembered why he woke up in the first place. Dead faces, pained faces…the green light still fading as their bodies fell to the floor in lifeless heaps.

A small sob racked his body and he covered his mouth, silencing it. His eyes darted around his rooms. Paranoid, perhaps, but his spies were everywhere. He was never safe.

Kicking back his covers, he staggered to the bathroom, he legs threatening to collapse under him. He walked to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He cursed and winced at the loudness. He stood still for a moment, and then stumbled to the sink. Turning the cold faucet on, he ducked his head down, gulping the ice cold water as it streamed down.

He let the water fall down his throat, piercing his insides with its iciness and plummeting painfully into his empty stomach. He hadn't eaten since breakfast.

He splashed water in his face, shuddering at the coldness. Sighing, he turned off the water and stood up, looking in the mirror to see himself.

He yelped at seeing another person next to his reflection.

Spinning around, he looked at the small girl. His face flushed at screaming in terror and his eyes glared at her, demanding to know why she was there.

"Just wanted to tell you not to slam the door on your way out," she said.

He scowled but did not say anything. He was relieved inside. She could not tell his was petrified of falling asleep. Ever since the end of the summer before his last year at Hogwarts, Draco hadn't had a good night sleep. Something had to haunt him.

He turned to leave, escaping to the darkness of his room when a hand touched his cold arm. It burned. He looked up at her, wondering why she would touch him. She usually wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole, at least after she had hexed him. Yet here she was, touching his arm freely and without disgust.

"You look horrible," she remarked. He smirked. _I look like shit_, he corrected her silently to himself. He didn't deny it.

He shrugged.

She looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Malfoy? Not defending his looks? Are you sick? Do you have a fever?"

She placed a hand against his head, as if checking for a temperature. Her smile disappeared as quickly as it came when her hand touched his skin. Her hand was ice against the sweat covered forehead.

"Malfoy! You're burning!" she remarked. Instantly, she observed him, checking him for other signs of illness.

"Granger, I'm fine!" Draco snapped when she checked for his pulse. She looked at him, still looking concern. She didn't seem to hear him for she said, "We have to go to the hospital wing."

She dragged him towards the door. He stood his ground and watched in amusement, as she seemed to walk in place, thinking she was pulling him.

"Granger! I said I was fine," he said again, growing irritated as she kept walking in place while rambling on what to do with him. She turned to look at him.

"Then why are you burning? Why is your shirt soaked in sweat? Cold sweat, I might add," she observed.

"Nightmare," he said smoothly, getting out of her grip and walked to his room. He glanced back as he closed the door to see a stoic girl standing in the middle of the bathroom in her pajamas.

Right when the door closed, he distinctly heard her soft voice whisper, "At least now I know I'm not the only one having nightmares."

Somehow, that comforted him. He went to bed, his eyes gazing at his enchanted ceiling to look like the night sky. The stars made his eyes grow heavy and he closed them. No dead faces screamed. No blood splattering over walls. It was just pure, blackness. Tranquillity hovered over him as he thought of the girl of his affections, remembering how her touch sent such odd sensations through him.

He had never had a better night's sleep.

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Would you tremble if I touched your lips?

They avoided each other. Actually, _she_ avoided _him_. He still kept a watchful, admiring eye on her. He caught her in the hall as they were walking down to Potions class.

Surprisingly, she wasn't with her two bodyguards. Then again, neither was he. They were late for class and they jogged down the hall, hoping that they'd make it in time. Of course, luck was not with them and Hermione's bag burst at the seams, thanks to her multitude of books and papers.

"Damn it!" she hissed. It was her language that made him pause. He had never heard her swear. And he liked it.

He bent down, picking pieces of paper, books and quills off the floor, helping her. _Helping_ _her_, now he really wondered if he was sick. She seemed to be thinking the same question for she gazed at him with cynical eyes.

He looked away and stood up, extending a hand to help her to her feet. She grabbed it after a moment, a jolt shot through him and pierced his heart in a painful, pleasurable feeling.

He yanked hard, not contemplating her small figure and underestimating his strength. She fell forward and he caught her in his arms. How perfect she fit into them! Every other girl felt entirely different, odd. Yet it worked with them. It seemed like there bodies were meant to be together, made to fix each other so perfectly.

She looked up at him, her face flushed. His face burned as well as he noticed how close they were. He titled his head down, an impulse, and he noticed how soft her lips looked in the dim light. He wondered what it'd feel like to touch them, how she would react. He leaned down slightly, and he could have sworn she was titling her head up in response.

Yet that moment never came. Draco couldn't remember how they had parted, only remembering it felt unnatural to be by himself again without her next to him.

She was already rushing down the hall, brown hair flying behind her shoulders and broken bag clutched in her hands with her books.

His licked his lips. Next time, he'd taste those lips…he swore he would.

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Would you laugh?

Oh, please tell me this

The shadows covered him, hiding him from the eyes of others. He enjoyed the darkness, especially since it closely resembled him.

Loud yet pleasant laughing echoed clearly in his ears. He glared at him. Why was it that Scarhead and Weasel, the most annoying brats in the whole friggen school could make the girl of his dreams laugh? He could make her laugh. He knew he could.

Draco observed under his shady tree as the poor Weasel jumped up and down, his mouth gapping open and his lanky arms flinging about. He snorted. He had to give the red headed freak credit for looking so stupid.

In the mix of the Boy-Who-Is-Incapable-Of-Dying grating laughter, he could hear the tinkling mirth of her laughter. It was the sweetest sound he heard. Some girls had an annoying laugh. Some laughed through their nose, making snorting sounds. Some paused in-between their laughter to take a sharp intake of breath, resembling a squeaking door that Flinch had forgotten to grease. Others had the obnoxious fluttery laugh that was far from being natural. But her laughter…it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

Would you laugh for me? He asked silently as his eyes grew heavy. _Laugh for me, Hermione._

Her butterfly like laughter whispered in his ears, cooing him to sleep. And sleep he did.

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Now would you die for the one you love?

Hold me in your arms tonight

He opened his eyes slowly, a loud sound jerking him out of his sleep. He cursed the beard of Merlin as he lost the image of her. He couldn't even remember what he had dreamt, only knowing that it was a good one. Where was he anyway? He looked around, trying to remember. Soft grass felt like velvet under his palms, he looked up at a sky full of leaves. He was still under the tree. But why hadn't anyone gotten him? It was evening; dinner was probably in five minuets at most.

A piercing cry broke the air. It was filled with anguish. He knew that scream, he had heard it once or twice before. _Her_ scream.

Jumping to his feet, his heart beating like thunder in his chest, he sprinted towards the entrance of the school.

It was as if he was running in slow motion, like he was running in a dream. Each motion seemed to take an age. Yet somehow, he reached the doors he had felt he had been running to for an eternity.

Flinging them open, his eyes beheld the sight of burning tapestries and portraits. A limp child lay here and there, some bleeding, some crying while holding onto some broken part of his or her body. Draco stood dumbly in the middle of the doorway, his shaky breaths loud in his ears. He could distantly hear the sound of battle, of screams. He could smell death and pain in the air.

A little girl tugged at his shirt. He looked down. She was a first year; he could vaguely remember her walking up the long aisle just like he had walked up years before, waiting anxiously for the hat to call out the house he would enter.

"Help…" she whimpered. He looked dumbly at her, as if she had grown another head.

"Please…my…my arm and head…" she said tiredly, reaching behind her head. When she removed her hand to touch her arm again, it seemed her hand was painted red.

A blast sounded down the hall. An impulse overcame him and he grabbed the girl, flinging her to the ground and covering her already bloody head with his body. When the explosion ended, he scooped the girl in his arms and ran down the hall. He didn't know where he was going. He was just running.

His feet pounded down the hall to the Infirmary and he burst threw the doors. Hundreds of other kids lay on beds, bleeding and bruised, crying. The old nurse ran about hysterically, trying to heal them as quick as she could. She did not cry like Draco knew she must have felt like doing. _She must feel so hopeless…_Draco thought, setting down the girl on the nearest cot and dashing out of the room, hoping to escape the despair.

He ran, screams still echoing. He passed the body of a Death Eater that lay stunned under a suit of armor that had landed on top of him. So _that_ was the reason. He should have known. Voldermort had excused him from the last meeting considering he had disappeared from school too much already. It would have been extremely obvious. They must have planned to hit Hogwarts at that one meeting he hadn't attended to.

Children bumped into him as he ran the opposite direction. Some sat curled in corners, trying to hide, crying. He didn't blame them. He had wanted to do that once. But he had learned to cope with it, as they would when they got a little older.

Loud chants streamed down the corridor and a bright light filled the hall. Draco was hit from behind and he flew forward. His head connected with the wall and the world was captured by darkness.

"…here…others…care…" broken words sounded loud in his ears.

"He may…dead…"

"Dumbledore told me to…" Two voices argued, one an aggressive male, the other a soft female. His ears came back to life. The male stomped away, his feet sounded like drums that were being played a foot away from his head. Draco winced, the movement causing him more pain.

He groaned in agony. _Damn, this hurts…_he thought.

So the thought of him being dead was out. "Draco? Draco? Open your eyes if you can hear me…do something!" the girl's voice pleaded.

Draco…it sounded so nice when she said it. He had always heard it with scorn, with anger, with command…not with such concern. He opened his eyes.

Black.

Panic filled him, his heart almost bursting. "I…I can't see!" he stammered, overcome in fear. _I'm blind!_

He blinked once. He blinked twice. He closed his eyes and opened them after a brief moment. The blackness slowly turned to small dots. And through the dim haze, he saw the person who had been ordered to stay with him.

Her face was close to his, brown locks of hair brushed again his face lightly. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

He stared for a second, trying to remember how to count. "Two…I think…or maybe four…"

Hermione giggled tiredly. "Close enough."

Her hand went around him again. _She's holding me…_he thought. He turned to look at her, trying to see her face. It looked so assured. However her eyes were worn with worry, with concern and stress. For an instant, he believed it was for him, that she truly cared for him. Then he saw her eyes flicker left and right, looking down the halls in anticipation. A scornful voice in his head reminded him he was too evil for good to befall him. Everyone was blessed by her concern except him. He'd be blessed by a good hex.

He looked her over. Dry blood was caked to her lip, dirt covered her face, and a bruise was forming under her left eye. "You look like shit," he said.

Hermione stared at him, eyes wide in surprise and then she laughed. A laugh that caused her body to shake. A laugh that brought tears to her eyes that coursed down her face. The pride in realizing her had made her laugh by what he had said made him forgotten his pain for an instant.

"Feel like it too," she said. She smiled, too tired to remember that in her arms was her enemy, the man she'd probably end up killing.

Draco sighed, biting his lip and clenching his head as his head throbbed in pain. He groaned.

"Rest…You'll be taken to the Infirmary soon," she said. He nodded tiredly, instantly regretting as pain shot through his head.

"Thank you…Her-Hermione…"

There was an intake of breath and a brief silence. Then in the silence, "You're welcome, Draco."

****

I can be your hero baby

I can kiss away the pain

I will stand by you forever

You can take my breath away

He walked down to his room. His footsteps were heavy. He wasn't entirely well, but there was no way he wanted to spend another day in that hell they called an Infirmary. The nagging of the nurse, constantly telling him to take his medicine, sleep, rest, don't talk, stop glaring at the younger children, he was frightening them…the nagging went on and on.

It probably would have been more enjoyable if the younger years would have quit crying and the ones his age from other houses ceased bickering at him, saying they knew who he was…

He knew they were bluffing, trying to show some sort of sign that they were right. Yet he just pretended he was asleep or just rolled his eyes at them, making them even more angry. How close they were to their accusations, they would never know.

A giggle caught his ears. Even in his dizzy state, nothing was better then to find something that was not meant to be found.

Flattening himself close to the wall, he peeked around the corner finding two people in the corner, completely smashed together and lips glued together. He frowned in disgust.

The girl's black hair fell away from her face, revealing almond shaped eyes that were closed, tanned skin, big red lips that once had lipstick painted over them, was now smeared all around her mouth. She pulled the boy closer to her and whispered things in his ear.

The boy with crazy black hair grunted and returned to her mouth, leaving red marks over her tan neck. Potter and Cho. Draco turned and walked quickly to his room. He felt like vomiting at the site at finding his enemy snogging a girl, especially since he knew for a fact that she was a horrible snogger and that he didn't look like a good one either.

He shuddered at his thoughts and slapped his head, instantly regretting it when pain shot through him. Still dizzy, he stumbled to the painting, mumbling the password quickly and fell inside. He landed on the floor, groaning.

He clutched his head and opened his eyes, trying to get the room back in place. He heard sniffling. _Merlin help me!_ he screamed in pure frustration. _Can I ever escape the bloody crying?!_

Sitting up, he looked where the sound was coming from. The bathroom door was cracked open and he stumbled to it. He opened it, and gazed in boredom at the sobbing girl on the floor.

"Granger…would you get a grip already?"

The brown head shot up, eyes glaring coldly, although the tears falling from them did not enhance fear in him. He raised an eyebrow, as if asking," That's the best you can do?"

She lowered her head, burying her face back into the folds of her arms. He sighed and sat down next to her. He could tell she was angry at him for being so near her. He blocked out the curses that she yelled at him. If venting her anger was going to make her feel better, then let her vent it. It's not as if he took personal offense of it.

He himself was angry, fuming silently that the girl he loved was in love with the great Harry Potter and not him. What the hell did Harry Bloody Potter have that he didn't have? Did he have to go around with a big head, expecting people to bend down on their knees for him? What the heck did he have to do?

Her yelling died away and he looked at her. She was calmer after yelling at him. Her tears still fell hot and fast, and she was shaking from her sobs.

"He's not worth it, you know," he said casually, trying to swallow his heart that was thumping painfully in his throat.

She glanced at him.

"Why'd he choose Cho over you is preposterous. If he can't see that, then he's not worth your time. You're too good for him, honestly." Draco looked at her, hoping she'd be able to see he was telling the truth.

She just looked at him, quizzical eyes shinning behind the tears. "Really?"

He had just realized how close their faces were. All he had to do was lean in just a tiny bit, and she would tilt her head up…the thought intrigued him. Her red lips were calling to him.

"Yeah," he answered after a pause and leaned in. She automatically tilted her head up just like he had hoped she would and he finally tasted the softness of her lips.

They pulled apart and she looked at him in shock, and then she smiled. She leaned in again, unsure if he would let her. He smirked and showed her how much he wanted her to kiss him again. Pulling her head closer, he pressed hard against her lips.

One kiss led to two, two led to four, and four led to a ton more. As they sat back, fingers laced together, her head resting against his shoulder, he caressed her hand, feeling free to test the softness.

He sighed. He could spend the rest of his life with her. It was absurd to think that when they had just shared their first kiss. However, in the Pureblood way, marriage was set at birth, and as he recalled, no Malfoy in a very long time had thought of spending their life with another women besides the one they were forced to marry.

The thought of having to marry someone like Pansy Parkinson disgusted him, and he drew her close. She asked what was wrong. He smiled down at her, touched that she would show genuine concern for him and told her it was nothing. She curled into him. He smiled happily.

**__**

Would you swear that you'll always be mine?

He saw her walking down the hall. Warmth filled his gut when he saw her gaze flicker continuously to him.

He watched her go to her table, taking her regular seat between her two friends. He walked to his table and sat so that he was looking directly at her. He watched her eyes fall to her plate, trying to look everywhere but him. And when she did, she'd look at him for a long time.

He'd stare back, looking at her love and affection. He eyes darted to the door and then back at her. She followed his gaze and then nodded slightly. She stayed at the table for a minuet, aggravating Draco. Then after finishing her laughter with Harry and Ron, her eyes widened and she whispered something to her friends who just shrugged as they watched Hermione walk quickly out of the Great Hall.

It wasn't unusual for Hermione to leave them to perfect her already perfect essays. It was unusual however for Hermione to leave them to kiss their worst enemy. But that was something they'd never know.

Draco played with his food a moment or two longer, then yawning, he lazily got off the table, muttering he needed to caught some sleep, joking with the boys that he had had a wild night earlier. They just chuckled stupidly and let their superior leave them.

Draco walked casually out of the Great Hall, frustrated that the door seemed to take two steps back when he stepped forward. It took all his strength to keep himself from sprinting to the door. Finally, reaching it, he opened it and quickly exited out of the room. Glancing left and right, he then started to sprint down the halls, his feet barely making a sound as he ran. His father had taught him at an early age on how to run without giving away your position, a need-to-know technique for the upcoming war.

He slowed down, breathing heavily and he looked around. This was their spot, the spot they decided they'd always meet up at. The adrenaline of wanting to kiss her and touch her was slowly fading until a hand grabbed him from behind, pulling him back.

He didn't even have time to make a sound before warm lips crashed on his. He swiftly regained his composer and took action, making her melt instead of him.

He heard her moan softly, running her small fingers through his hair. He smiled against the kiss. He had wanted this for so long, it was incomprehensible to believe it was actually happening.

Yet there was a flaw to his dream. They had promised each other that their relationship would only be physical, neither would ask deep, personal questions. Neither would expect great things from the other. In their case, if he wanted to kiss her senseless, she would let him, if she wanted to bit his neck during break, he would let her.

The small, dark corner they had made for themselves grew hot and stuffy. They panted as they continue to kiss, trying to satisfy their desires that seemed to grow instead of dying.

She crashed against him, letting him do whatever he wanted with her. He held her, holding her, touching her and kissing her. Their heavy breathes deepened, falling into the same rhythm. He pulled back and he pressed his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily onto his face like he was doing against hers.

"Don't leave me, Hermione. Don't leave me," he whispered before he could stop himself. It was a silent question he constantly had begged to her, but only in his mind. It had never left his lips. He felt her tense under his touch and he knew he shouldn't have said it.

"Draco…" she began, seeming uncertain on what to say.

"Sh," he hushed. "Never mind. It's not important. Just forget it."

And before she could protest, say anything to make him feel better after his stupid blunder, he swallowed her with another kiss. She relaxed into him once again, letting herself be consumed by Draco Malfoy.

****

A/N: So…what you think? Hate it? Love it? And yes, I know that was an incredible long chapter…and no, that is not the end considering that is only half the song. The whole piece put together was around 40 pages, and I really didn't think you guys would sit in front of the computer for hours reading my fic, although it would have been touching if you did…

This is my first song fic! Yeah…congratulations to me…sigh Writing this thing would only be pleasing if you guys **REVIEWED** for my story. Really, just click on the blue button, and write me something! Please!

And for those beautiful people who do, if you'd like to leave your email address, I'd be pleased to email you to tell you when the second and supposedly last chapter will be up.

One word that means everything to me: Review


	2. Complete Lies

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Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter, or the song _Let me be your Hero_ by Enrique Iglesias.

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Notes: A Draco/Hermione story. Lyrics are in **bold**. Thoughts and emphasized words are _italicized_--I think you can tell the difference being the smart people that you are.

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Just wanted to say thanks to: Mela, kawaii&crazy, Bozena, DivineSilence, shimmerysparkles, goldseraph Chaserlizina, PK, Zippy Diaperbrain, Raiast, reviewer, jadziadaxx, gina diaz 5, Jessy-Allens, bright pink star, Tracy3, AnimeLuver333, relena333, RonFan, Lover del Dragon, MyOwnAntagonist, silverhazel, RedWitch1, Shea LaRoc, and I-h8-sclub. Yall **Rock**!

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Author: Pensive Puddles

Behind the Masks

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> II. Complete Lies
>
>> By Pensive Puddles

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Would you lie?

Would you run and hide?

"You seem awfully happy today, Hermione," Draco heard Ginny observe. He kept his eyes on his paper, yet his quill shook in his hands. He could still taste her cherry lips.

"Oh…just excited for the game. You know, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin games are always the best," she said casually. There was truth to some extent, but Ginny would never know the real truth for her happiness, or why her face seemed to glow and her lips were a darker shade of red than usual.

Bitterness swept over him. She would lie about them. Even if they were something more, something truer, she would lie because she was ashamed. But he hadn't had expected the bargain between them to grow like it did. He had thought that if he had finally felt her, then maybe he would have stopped loving her. Instead, it had pushed him in the other direction, making her his ideal obsession.

After that night that he had whispered his love to her in a discreet way, he started to notice little things she did that were outside of the bargain they had arranged.

She would start kissing him with tenderness, kissing him like she _really_ meant it. She would stare at him, even letting her guard down once or twice and smiling at him with a warm flicker in her eyes that warmed him to the bottom of his toes, even in front of her friends!

He repaid her with the same courtesy, indiscreetly of course. The dream he had hoped would happen was slowly becoming a reality.

"Draco, come on! Everyone's waiting in the lockers for you," Blaise said gruffly. Draco did not grumble but got off his chair, noticing Hermione's wandering gaze. He glanced at her, winking. She blushed and looked away.

He hid his smile and walked down the halls.

An iron like hand gripped his arm and Draco stopped. He glared at Blaise, as if demanding him to know who he thought he was for even touching him. Blaise did not back down from the stare. Over the years, he had grown accustomed to Draco's haughty behavior, yet their small, twisted friendship led him to forgive Draco unconsciously.

"End it now, Draco." Draco had never heard Blaise sound so serious in his life. Blaise had always been a carefree, happy-go-lucky boy, so unlike the other Slytherin boys and girls whose parents were also involved with the Dark Lord.

Draco glared coldly, his mask once again rising. "I don't know what your talking about, Blaise. Let me go."

"I know you're with her. You've been acting strange. You've quit making fun of Potter and Weasley, but _only_ when _she's_ with them. It's great that you've finally found love, Draco, but find love with another girl. She's not worth it. She's the best friend of you enemy, for the love of Merlin!"

"Blaise, I'm going to pretend that we've never had this discussion. You're sicker than I thought," Draco hissed and ripped his hand out of the boy's arm and stormed down the hall.

"Draco. Draco!" Blaise called. The blond ignored him. Blaise ran up next to him.

"Listen to me, you idiot!" he yelled, grabbing his arm again and stopping him. Facing him, he smiled apologetically, "I believe you if you tell me nothing's going on. Its just…we never do anything together anymore. You always say you have homework, and you're never anywhere, it's like you just disappear! I miss our friendship, especially now that it'll come to an end soon…"

They both swallowed unpleasantly and unconsciously reached for their left arm. Draco could practically see the black mark shinning through the heavy, dark material of his shirt. No friendships were to be held above the friendship with the Dark Lord. It was better not having friendships at all considering they would all die one way or another. It was less painful to watch a comrade go down instead of a friend. "I know, Blas, I know…" Draco murmured and continued down the hall. The mask slipped for a second and Draco rested a hand on his friend's shoulder. Blaise nodded in gratitude at the small amount of affection Draco was allowing him to see. The two boys walked down the halls in silence.

Draco gave a quick peep talk to his teammates, and just like he had said he would, Draco pretended as if the incident in the hall had never happened, treating Blaise like he treated every other team member: demanding strict obedience.

Yelling, he ordered his team out of the locker room and they left, Draco leading them. It was a glorious site, the Quidditch stands packed to capacity with students and teachers. Of course, more people wore gold and red then green and silver. That had always been the case.

The ground shook with roars of boos and cheering. The players walked to the middle of the field, facing the opposite teams. Draco and Harry, the captains, met up in the middle and they shook hands.

"May the best team win," Madam Hooch said.

"We intend to," Draco smirked.

Harry's eyes gleamed, returning the smirk, "Don't be too sure, Ferret. As I recall, it's been Gryffidor who keeps beating your sorry butt these seven years."

Draco's smirked widened. "We'll see Potter…We shall see."

He saw the small confusion, doubt in Harry's face after he said that. It was just the way Draco had said it that had caused Harry to act so…unnerved.

"Mount your brooms!"

The players gripped their brooms tightly, feet itching to get off the ground.

A sharp whistle pierced the ear and Draco kicked off the ground, shooting upward at such a speed that by the time he was in the air, Harry was still kicking off the ground. Draco could practically feel Harry's glare as he circled the stadium.

He zoomed around the stadium, giving himself a personal little warm up. He flew low, blowing over a few girls heads who shrieked with glee and blew kisses to him. Yes, he was a Slytherin, but cute Slytherins were an exception.

Draco stopped, breathing in the sharp air. He could smell, could feel every force in the stadium, every player, every blade of grass. He felt as if he himself was part of the stadium.

He looked around lazily, noting angrily that Gryffindor had scored earlier then he had wanted them to. He looked around, keeping a lazy on the Snitch and the other on Potter.

He dipped low, keeping everyone on their toes. He yelled at his players, ordering them to pay attention. He flew by Goyle and slapped him on the side of the head, commanding him to concentrate.

Suddenly, something gold caught his eye. He jerked out of his flight and dove straight for the ground. Harry was right next to them. They could faintly hear the roar of the crowd as the two Seekers dove what looked like to be their death.

Suddenly, Harry's hand shot forward, almost grabbing the Snitch. Draco raised himself off his broom and swatted Harry's hand away. The Snitch darted away and both boys pulled hard on their brooms, finally noticing how the ground seemed to fly at them. Both he and Harry stopped, their toes barely grazing the grass blades. Wild cheering filled their ears at the amazing spectacle.

Draco smiled and shot up into the air again hearing the cheers, as he knew that Harry was still on the ground. Three times in one game Draco had gotten the cheer than Potter.

The Snitch seemed to have disappeared. He kept his eyes sharp however. The game was close. It was a tie. All he needed to do was wait till Slytherin was ahead by one hit and then he'd grab the Snitch, winning the game.

Loud boos issued from the red and gold covered people that were soon drowned out by the screams of the green and silver colored fans. Draco looked at the score. They were ahead.

"Now I just have to get the Snitch," he said to himself. His nerves bunched in excitement, he shivered and released his tension. Suddenly, his eyes caught the sharp glisten of gold. Harry was chasing it; he was so close, _too_ close.

Draco dived, his hair blowing from his head, eyes watering at the blasting wind. He reached out, every fiber in his body quivering in fear, in hope. He had to beat Potter, for himself, for Slytherin, to show Hermione that he was just as good as Potter. Hermione…

He yelled out a small war cry, and raised himself off his broom. He snatched the Snitch that Harry's hand had almost clasped over. He dove up. Harry, who had not seen Draco, was caught so off guard that he jerked back, throwing himself off his broom. Draco wheeled his broom around and flew down, grabbing Harry by his arm and leading them flying them both to the ground.

There was a sudden silence, a deafening silence that turned into a deafening roar. Even the Gryffindor's cheered weakly for Draco for his gallant save of Harry.

Draco got off his broom, his hand trembling at the sudden realization. He had beat Harry Potter, _the_ Harry Potter! Draco with an awe look still on his face, turned to look at the loser. Harry looked at him, his eyes glassy and face fallen as if he had just lost his dignity, his pride, and in a way, he had.

"Congratulations, Malfoy," he said dully, his face tightened, as if the words tasted sour in his mouth. Draco was surprised his tone wasn't dripping in sarcasm, bitterness, everything he himself would have said it in.

Draco nodded. Suddenly, he was swept off his feet and was lifted up by hundreds of hands. He smiled a genuine smile and laughed a pure genuine laugh. _So this is what it feels like…_he thought silently to himself as they sat him down and the team dog piled him, the girls kissing him, the boys patting his back hard.

He got up, his hair ruffled from the wind and from being rolled over on the ground. Blades of grass stuck in his hair, dirt covered his face and uniform. He looked around, looked at the half empty stands considering that almost everyone was on the grounds either nursing the losers or praising the winners.

"Good show, Mr. Malfoy. Good show! I'm proud of you," the old headmaster said. And for some odd reason, Draco almost wanted to cry in pride that the Great Dumbledore would say such kind words, words he would have said to Harry, but had said them to Draco Malfoy instead. "You have great potential, young man. Not only as a leader and student, but also in sports and other academics! Very few men are blessed with the talents and gifts giving to you."

Draco smiled, hoping his tears would not fall. He nodded his head in gratitude at the Headmasters touching words. The old man nodded back. It was respect Draco had never received before.

"50 points to Slytherin for the show at the end of the game," the man's bright eyes twinkled.

Draco was engulfed in cheers and hugs. Slytherin was finally ahead of the Gryffindor's. They had a very good chance of beating the Gryffindor's in the House Cup.

Draco looked around as he was lifted into the air again. His eyes soared over the crowd, looking for the one person he had hoped had watched the closest. He saw her leading a broken faced Potter away, Ron sobbing on her shoulder. She looked at him, a sad expression on her face that melted slightly when he looked at her. He knew he couldn't have expected her to cheer for him. It would give away too much. He took what he got.

****

Am I in too deep?

Have I lost my mind?

I don't care

You're here tonight

Draco sat in his room. The party had been long, loud and fun, yet his heart really wasn't in it. He had sat at the head of the table, nodding to the toasts made to him, watched as the girls danced for him, watched as his peers drowned themselves in Butterbeer and other stronger beverages.

Near the end, he slipped off, letting Blaise cover for him. He took a long shower, savoring the feel of the hot water. When he stepped out of the shower, he looked at himself in the mirror that would never fog. He saw himself: young, youthful, handsome, yet one thing made him ugly, made him disgusting. A black scar on his arm that shinned unnaturally against his fair skin.

And then Dumbledore's world came back, thundering in his head: I'm proud of you. You have great potential, young man. Not only as a leader and student, but also in sports and other academics! Very few men are blessed with the talents and gifts giving to you.

And that smile on that wrinkled face! Dumbledore was Draco's vision of a perfect old father, or more like a grandfather. He was the kind of man Draco wished he had had when he was child who he could have run to when he had troubles. And that smile, that smile was for _him_, not Potter, but _him_. It was like Dumbledore was proud of him for being _who he was at that moment_, unlike his father who was proud of him for pleasing the Dark Lord. Dumbledore was proud of him for doing something _good_, for _himself_.

And with those conclusions mixing with Dumbledore's words, Draco let the tears fall. Hermione wasn't there. He was alone. He flung himself to his bed, crying like a lost child.

Shame swept over him. The happiness he had felt earlier disappeared and he was filled with remorse, despair, and regret…the happy feeling from earlier now seemed like a dream.

Draco closed his eyes and fell into a light sleep. He heard a small knock on his door. His eyes snapped open and he jumped out of bed.

"Who is it?" he demanded.

"Hermione."

"Uh…hold on!" he called, grabbing a shirt and throwing it on. He made sure it covered his mark and he opened the door.

"Hi," she said breathlessly. She looked tired. She had probably stayed by Potter and Weasley's side, comforting them and their wounded pride. He knew it probably had taken most of her strength to calm the Weasel. Not only was the red head a disgrace to the Wizard World, he was a disgrace to the male population, crying like that over a stupid game. Don't get him wrong, Draco took Quidditch seriously, but he'd punch walls until his knuckles were to bloody and bruised to hit anything instead of crying like a big baby.

She smiled. "You did great. It took awhile to admit it. But you were awesome. Even Harry and Ron agreed-- maybe not in words...well, you know them. You were just…amazing…"

"Thanks," he said pleased and yet a little uncomfortable. He looked down at her and he smiled. She relaxed and leaned against him, letting him embrace her and take all the stress away. He kissed her head. She titled her head back and kissed his lips.

"Wow," he remarked, licking his lips, "that was better then beating the Famous Harry Potter."

She giggled. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"This is for you." He handed her something. Hermione looked at the rather large box and opened it. A gold ball with wings sprouted from the sides shinned up at her. She gasped. It was the Snitch, the Snitch he had won. On the gold side facing her, it read in elegant, green cursive, "I did it for you, Hermione. Love, Draco."

She blinked, biting back tears. She knew how much Quidditch meant to Draco. The Snitch was given to the most important player on the team. Usually, a person only receives the Snitch once. His first Snitch and he was giving it to her.

She kissed him, kissed him tenderly. Her hand touched his arm. She froze. Draco froze. Time stood still.

She pulled back, looking at where her hand was touching and she looked up at him, her eyes filled with fear.

"Draco…" she trembled. He swallowed, closing his eyes and turning his head as if not wanting to see her visage. Her hand lifted up the sleeve of his shirt and she dropped the box in her hand.

"Oh my god," she whispered and backed away, covering her mouth. She looked up at him, eyes drowning in pain, in fear, in betrayal…

Draco swallowed back the urge to vomit. "Hermione, I…"

She shook her head and back away. "Stay away--Don't say anything to me, Malfoy."

She stumbled back and ran to her room. Her door slamming shattered his heart to pieces.

He stumbled back to his bed, tears falling fast and hard down his face again. His body shook with sad spasms. He did not deny himself the pain. He deserved it.

The look in her eyes…he'd never forgive himself for it.

Later that night, as his eyes were slowly drying from his remaining tears, the door opened slightly and a figure walked to his room. He half opened his eyes, seeing only a blur. Light fingers closed his eyelids again; they felt like feathers against his skin. A soft kiss pressed against his head. And then she was gone.

****

I can be your hero baby

I can kiss away the pain

I will stand by you forever

You can take my breath away

When he went to breakfast the next day, he didn't know what he should feel. His feet were contemplating of carrying a bounce in them or drag sorrowfully across the ground.

She had came back to him that night. But why? Did she forgive him? Yet how could she? Had she told everyone about his secret? He should have been more careful! He shouldn't have fallen in love with her in the first place!

As he entered the Great Hall, the room fell into complete silence, making his heart stop in cold fear, swallowing him. So she _had_ told her secret. Her kiss last night had been one of apology, for betraying him. Betraying him? Technically, he betrayed her first, kind of, in a twisted sort of way. He didn't know!

Suddenly, the room that had once been deadly silent filled with thundering applause. Draco looked up, startled. Every student clapped; the Slytherin's beat against the table with the cups and fists. Yet they were cheering for him, congratulating him again on his performance from the day earlier.

Draco was too dazed to do anything. He just walked down to his table in awe as he peers parted for him in respect he never knew they could posses.

He looked up at his table filled with smiling faces. It had been awhile since his whole table had been happy. None of them had anything to look forward to. He didn't have anything nice to look forward to. He was to be a full Death Eater when he graduated, as would almost all of the other seventh year Slytherins.

And then he and his peers would have to kill the ones who had just clapped for him, had cheered for him. They would have to murder them in cold-blood, in their sleep, whatever method to weaken the Light. Draco lost his appetite immediately.

"Ugh, you'd think the Mudblood and half-blood would get a room," He faintly heard Pansy murmured in disgust next to him.

Instantly, Draco looked up. A little nudge would have made him fall over like paper. His eyes widened in pain and shock, his face drained of color.

Hermione was giggling as Harry nuzzled her neck. Draco gripped the bench, his hands shaking, his knuckles white. She was smiling at Potter, smiling at him like she used to smile at him.

"I…I…I'll see you in class," Draco wheezed and stumbled away from the table, rushing out of the Great Hall.

He leaned against the wall that was secluded from the halls. He sat in the dark, hand covering his face and he shook, crying dry tears. He had shed all his tears the night before.

"Draco?" a quiet voice called to him. He didn't move, didn't make a sound. He didn't want to talk to her, see her. The only thing he could see was her and Potter.

"Draco," Hermione said gently. He felt a warm hand on his arm. It felt like fire. He jerked from her touch.

"Keep your filthy hands off me, Mudblood," he snarled. He heard her take an intake of breath, could feel her hurt eyes staring at him. It had been a long time since he had called her that.

"I…I was going to tell you last night…"

"What? After you snogged me?" He accused, glaring at her with his best piercing gaze. He could feel her cower beneath him.

"No!" She said. She looked at him, and quickly averted her gaze. "I got caught up in the moment, and then you gave me the Snitch…I'm sorry, Draco. I know I must have hurt you--"

"First of all, _Mudblood_, it's Malfoy to you, second of all, my feelings are not something you can just talk about over tea. So why don't you just get the hell away from me?" He pushed her away, making her stumble backward and he walked down the hall, away from her, from the pain.

"I know you're mad--" she followed him, ignoring his crude comments.

"Mad? Why would I be mad?" he said, giving her a confused, amused look. He stomped over to her, grabbed her by her chin, he crushed his lips against hers, and bit her bottom lip. It was their last kiss; he'd make it memorable. When he pulled back, her lips were red and swollen, the bottom having a line of dark red across it. She licked her blood painfully away. He glared darkly into her eyes. "I was just expanding my horizons considering they'll be cut short after graduation."

"He's taking you away that soon?" she blurted, understanding his hidden meaning instantly.

"Right when I get my diploma. So don't feel bad, Granger, it was fun while it lasted. I'll admit that you're the most intriguing Mudblood I've ever encountered; you're even prettier than any Pureblood female I've met. But that's it. You're just a good snog." He whirled around sharply after giving her a cold smirk and he walked down the halls, hoping he had left his heart shattered in the corner where no one would find it. Yet the shattered pieces cut the insides of his soul with their sharp pieces, making him bleed in agonizing slow pain.

****

A/N: Hey there! Well, there it goes, maybe a little shorter than the first chapter. Oh yes, and to those who said they would have read all 40 pages in one go, I was really touched by that. I don't know, to actually know people would sit at a computer late at night or whatever time and spend a decade reading it…it just makes me all fuzzy inside!

So, if you'd be so kind and be as super cool like last time, push that little familiar blue button and write down a few words again….I'd be so happy. Really, when I first opened my email and saw all those reviews…I almost fell out of my chair.

OK! Again, I repeat to those who didn't give me their email address last time, if you would like to know when the final chapter of this rather odd short story trilogy is updated, leave your email address in your review or something like that. Just in case you're interested…

And to those drop dead spiffy people who do, you are my favorite person in the world…


	3. The Mask Falls

Disclaimer: Dare I state the obvious? Honestly, is there a point to these _stupid_ disclaimers? If I was an actual talented writer, I would be getting this stuff published, not posted up on an Internet site. But, as it is that everyone can get sued for just looking at someone the wrong way, I do not own Harry Potter or the song _Let me be your_ Hero by Enrigue Islargries.

Note: Thoughts and stressed words are _italicized_, and being the smart people that you are, you'll know the difference. **Lyrics** are in bold.

Dedication: To my very own **_Bozena_**…just wanted to remind you that this is _your _fic since you love it so much…

****

**Author:** Pensive Puddles

**Behind the Masks**

_

> III. The Mask falls

_

> > By Pensive Puddles

****

Oh, I jut want to hold you

True to his word, Draco was caught and carried away with the other marked students. He could still see Hermione's pained, sorrow filled face as his father held him roughly around the arm, leading him away to be transported to the Dark Lord. He could still see those brown eyes, the brown eyes he had once fallen in love with…

"_Imperious_!" someone screamed. Draco was overcome with a feathery light feeling. It felt good, nice and warm. "_Turn your wand on yourself, Draco. Just end it all. Don't need to worry about the pressure, the pain, betrayal…"_

"Up yours, Blaise," Draco drawled, flickering his wand and making Blaise sail into the wall. Blaise struggled against imaginary binds around his neck and then collapsed. Men came and carried off the limp figure of the barely breathing boy.

Two claps rang through the air like thunder. It was a dreary, hair-raising sound and Draco turned and gave a quick bow to the person who was clapping.

"Good show, Draco, my boy, Good show," Voldemort hissed. Draco did not feel the pleasure he had felt when Dumbledore had said those nearly exact same words. Instead he felt shame and despair slowly eat him again.

"Thank you, My Lord," Draco stilted a bow.

There was a slight pause. "You do not respect me, do you, boy?"

There was a dead silence. Draco stood up, looking straight into the almond red eyes of Voldemort. "How can I respect someone that hasn't done anything that should gain my respect?"

"I am powerful--"

"Yet weak in body. You are less powerful then you were before. Harry Potter could defeat you with a flick of his wand." Draco could feel his father's disapproving, cold eyes. Draco smirked.

Hollow, cold laughter rang through the silence, "I like your spunk, son. I was afraid you'd turn out like your father here."

Lucius grimaced, bowing low, although Draco knew he was still trying to figure out if he should take the comment as a compliment or a put down.

"Bring the next contestants out," Voldemort ordered, waving a weak, pale hand. Draco nodded his head and walked off the battlegrounds. An iron like grip clamped around his arm, halting him.

"Don't you ever, _ever_ embarrass me like that again, Draco," Lucius hissed. "I made you. I can destroy you."

A thin red mist covered his eyes, his blood pounded in anger in his veins. Mumbling something, Draco closed his eyes. Lucius raised his hand, thinking his son was muttering curses at him. Yet Lucius's hand froze in mid-air and he grabbed for his neck with his free hand. He fell to his feet, holding onto his son's robe and the other hand around his neck, trying to pry loose the invisible hand strangling him. Draco opened his eyes and kicked his 'father' away from him, releasing him from his trance. Leaning down, he hissed coldly, "Touch me again and I swear I _will_ kill you."

The older man looked at his cold creation and shuddered, nodding under the glare of his son. However, when his son's back was turned, he grabbed for his wand, ready to hex his son to death. Draco's hand raised and Lucius fell limply to the floor. Draco raised his black hood over his head, covering his pale features and blond hair, his face masked in darkness. His face twisted into a bitter smirk, his voice cold and slightly distant in the folds of his dark cloak, "Told you I'd kill you."

He walked outside, into the forest that the Dark Lord's lair was hidden in. Sitting down on a rock, he looked dully at his surroundings. A figure sat next to him, offering him a drink. Draco took it but did not drink from it. Being cautious was just another thing that he learned once he was a Death Eater. It wasn't uncommon for a man siting next to you to kneel over lifelessly. That was just how the Death Eater world ran.

"Knew you wouldn't drink it," Blaise said and settled down, taking a swig of his beer. "Don't you trust anyone anymore?"

"I can't even trust myself." Draco looked at his friend.

"You're growing strong, Draco." Draco kept silent. Blaise watched the liquid swirl in the glass bottle. He seemed to be contemplating if he should say something. He coolly asked, "Do you still think of her?"

"Who?" Draco asked, raising his eyebrows as if daring Blaise to question him further. Blaise got the hint and mumbled quickly, "No one."

Draco secretly checked the bottle and detecting no trace of poison or anything deadly, he took a small sip. His mind was slowly remembering her, that fateful night and their odd relationship. The drink in his hand was flavorless. The only thing he could taste was her bittersweet kisses, the softness, and those kisses made him remember words they shared and made him remember her reaction.

Draco was grateful for his mask. Blaise could not see the anguished tears he was crying.

****

I just want to hold you, oh yeah

Am I in too deep?

Have I lost my mind?

"The Dark Lord is weakening," Dumbledore announced. A cheer rose from the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix. He raised his hand, and the cheers stopped abruptly, the smiles fading. "But there is a new power rising. He's rising faster and stronger then I thought he would. He has reached the point where he can commit wandless magic."

Awed murmuring filled the room. Hermione twisted the hem of her shirt nervously. She had a feeling it was him.

"Who is he?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore looked at Harry long and hard. "I can not tell you because I do not know. All I know is what our spy has informed us of." Dumbledore nodded his head to Snape. Hermione smiled at the old Professor. Gray hair had formed an elegant streak that contrasted nicely against his black hair. The war had sped his age quicker then expected.

"What are we going to do about this, Dumbledore?" Hermione asked. Her voice was dull, monotone. People said it was because of the war that she had grown distant. It was really a completely different matter.

"We will attack tonight. Tonight is the end for the Dark Lord," Dumbledore said.

"But what about the knew one?" Ron demanded.

"He's not ready to take the throne yet, Mr. Weasley. We still have time to defeat both. Now, pay your visits tonight, for some of you will never see them again. Meet here at 8 P.M. Dismissed."

Hermione jumped out of her seat and walked over to Dumbledore. "I can't do it, Dumbledore, sir, I just…I know it's him…"

The old man seemed to age ten years before her in that second. "I know it's hard, Hermione. But you are one of our best witches. We need you tonight. It will work out for the best."

"I…I don't want to kill him…" she said and then she said barely above a whisper, "I still love him."

"And maybe that will save him. Love has a tricky way of getting in the way, ruining and yet saving the day in the end. Rest, Hermione. Enjoy life while you still can." Dumbledore turned and hobbled away, resembling an old man. It never really occurred to Hermione that Dumbledore was getting too old to move around. He had always been the old man that taught her at Hogwarts, the man who never seemed to age, but just grew wiser. And here, one of the greatest minds in the Wizarding History, was trapped inside a weak, feebly body. She looked sadly at the old man, yet she never knew when she had respected him more.

"Love has a tricky way of getting in the way…could you be anymore right?" Hermione sighed in frustration and walked away.

****

Well, I don't care

You're here tonight

Hermione walked down the lonely streets of Hogsmead. It would have been reasonable to look for a good drink in Diagon Ally. Yet somehow, the quiet streets of Hogsmead where more comforting than Diagon Ally. Sighing, she passed the many stores she had walked in and out of countless of times in her youth. Faces swam before her, those of the living and those of the dead. Only three years since she had graduated, and it felt like thirty.

Everywhere she looked, some memory kept popping up. In that corner her lover and she had spent time trying to conquer their desires, or had tried to pass time before they had to meet their friends.

Hermione quickly rushed into The Three Broomsticks, taking a seat at the high table. She waited patiently to be served. She could care less if they came or not. She was too lost in her memories. She brushed a painful tear away.

"What would you like, pretty miss?" a man asked kindly.

"Just a Butterbeer, please," she said, still lost in her pensive state. The man smiled with a slight trace of pity and handed her a mug and a bottle.

"Just a Butterbeer? As I remember, you liked stronger drinks," a familiar drawl reached her ears. Hermione froze. She looked up next to her. A man dressed in black was looking at her with penetrating blue eyes. He glared at her, a cold, small smirk lingered on his pale lips. It was if Hermione was stepping back in time, back in a dream.

"You…" she whispered. She should have felt something, anything. Yet she felt cold.

"Yes, _me_. And you, what happened to you?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, looking her up and down. Hermione did not deny the fact that she wasn't looking too well. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Her clothes were ill fitting and did nothing to flatter her figure. "Care to take a walk?"

He asked it so smoothly, as if asking for what the time was. Hermione found herself nodding. Getting off the stool, they paid for their untouched drinks and left. Neither made a sound as they walked side by side down the cobble streets of Hogsmead. Their feet lead them outside of Hogsmead, near the Shrieking Shack.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Hermione demanded, stopping. She dared to take a short glance at him, seeing if he was still the same Draco she had seen leave. He seemed to have improved over the years. He carried himself in pride, confidence. He held the pose of someone who knew where he was and what he was doing, never caught off guard. He was definitely no longer a boy, but a strong, determined, cold man. She had forgotten how bright his hair really is, how soft it looked. She had forgotten how his features were so perfectly aligned, how his broad shoulders perfected his figure, but the thing that Hermione never forgot was the piercing color of his eyes. She would never forget those eyes, how one look sent shivers through her, much like at that moment…she cast her glance away in a haughty matter, hoping her blush would be interpreted as anger.

Draco looked at her. She had changed so drastically in the few years they had been separated. She looked older, sterner. A younger replica of Professor McDonagall. He shrugged.

"Why am I even here?" He heard her grumble under her breath. _That's what I was thinking, myself_, he thought. He continued to look at her as coldly as he possibly could, yet the longer he stared at her, the harder it was to control himself.

He looked at her. He could tell that she was worn out, the few years of battle and stress were evident on her worn face. Her dark eyes held evidence of lack of sleep. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun. She looked so old. The smart, pretty girl had disappeared, leaving a calculating, unfeeling woman. "You've changed." Draco said sadly.

"So have you," she replied, looking at him with empty, brown eyes. Draco felt a tug of sorrow and pity pull at him. It grabbed him in his lower gut and for the first time in three years, a layer of the mask he had worn for so long fell. That was definitely not a good sign.

Taking a step towards her, he touched her face, remarking how soft the skin was even when the pretty girl he had once known was gone. She blushed at his touch. He said, "Why do you have your hair pulled back so tight? You look so stern."

Reaching up behind her head, he pulled at the band that clasped around her hair and he released it. Brown, thick locks fell from it in a tangled heap. He ran his fingers through it, noticing how it still felt so soft.

The last time he had seen her, he had sworn to himself that he would where a mask, a mask that would hide his true emotions, make him incapable of feeling. Life was easier to live without having to worry about such pitiful emotions. And he had perfected the mask until it was absolutely perfect, no flaws evident in it, a mask of solid, sharp ice. Yet the mask was melting in the sun before him, no matter how dim the sun was.

A layer of his mask melted away, letting life and pleasure sparkle in his eyes. He looked at her, noticing how her expression changed, as if she had suddenly remembered what it felt like to be a human again as well.

He caressed her face, a smirk forming under her melting mask. The irony of it all was amusing. After all that she did to him, toying with him and making him fall so in love with her, he started to feel that love surface again, eroding layer after layer of his ice mask away like an rock that is continually beat against by a wave.

"Malfoy, don't--" A pale finger pressed against her red lips and she hushed. He leaned down and kissed her. At first, she didn't react; she was as cold as ice. Slowly, as he continued to kiss her, she stirred under him.

Her reaction was none like he expected. Her stoic statue was destroyed as locked away emotions burst from their cages. He would have smirked at how easily she was caught in his trap. Yet the sad thing was, was that she had unlocked his hidden emotions as well.

She shattered his mask just like his heart. They pulled back to breathe, just for a second, and they stared into each other's eyes.

Draco seemed to fight with himself. Hermione watched as his eyes swirled in a crazy storm. Clouds were covering the pale sky, casting them in darkness. She looked around, watching as the clouds lightened in certain areas by the bright flashes of lightening.

"Go," he said huskily.

"What?" she asked confused.

"Don't come near me, Hermione. I'll kill you. I'll kill you," he warned. She looked at him startled. She was pushed away. "Run away from me, Hermione. Run fast."

She looked at him. He kneeled over, clutching his stomach. Vomiting blood, he curled in the mud.

"Draco!" she cried, rushing to his side and looking over him.

"I said go!" he growled.

"Why are you coughing like that? Are you sick? What's wrong with you?" she demanded, ignoring his command.

He struggled to breathe. "Go, Hermione. Even you can't put the shattered pieces together again."

Tears stung her eyes at his words. She had never, truly realized what she had done to him. She reached down to caress his hair, but he raised a hand, whispering words she had never heard off. She blinked and she suddenly found herself sitting in her living room.

Rubbing her eyes and shaking her head, she looked around startled. She was in her home. Had she really run into Draco? She reached up and found her hair hanging loosely around her shoulders. She knew she had had it in a bun earlier. The sleeves of her cloak were stained with a splatter of blood here and there. Mud was smeared against the rim of her clothes.

Why was he so sick? Was he dying? But he was supposed to be extremely powerful! Shouldn't he have enough power to keep himself from dying? He couldn't die!

Why can't he die? He is a Death Eater after all…a dark voice asked dully.

Because you love him, a voice that sounded familiarly like Dumbledore advised her.

Yes, she loved him. She loved him more than she did Harry. Memories surfaced, memories she had buried away a long time ago.

She could remember how her two boys reeked of dry sweat. She could still hear Ron's sobs at loosing. If her mind had not been aimlessly thinking of Draco while Ron was sobbing, Hermione probably would have strangled Ron. Draco…she could still see his graceful capture of the Snitch and the save for Harry, still hear his war cry. She had smiled when she heard it; it made her stomach flutter.

Ron had stomped off to the bathroom, snapping at anyone who was in yelling distant. His temper cooled down a little when Ginny slapped him across the face and told him to quit acting like a big baby. Hermione had bit her lip to keep from smiling at the two fiery red heads.

That whole night had been a mistake, her mistake with Harry, her mistake with Draco. Both mistakes had caused her pain and tears, and she welcomed it because she knew she deserved it. Harry had kissed her when it was just her and him in the room by themselves. She asked him to be his girlfriend. And maybe she just didn't have the heart to turn him down. She didn't realize her mistake until she found herself walking towards her room. She went to the nearest bathroom and cried, upset and stressed over her choices.

She had meant to go straight to his room. But she found her body being pulled to his room, like an invisible hand was lightly pushing her there. He had opened the door. She had felt guilty and she just wanted to remember what it felt like to be in his arms because he had the most comforting arms that she could remember. And when he kissed her like he did, she had decided she'd tell Harry the next day that she couldn't be his girlfriend.

And then that Dark Mark…

Betrayal had never been so thick and heavy as that moment. It was like her world had just stopped spinning, as if everything had halted. He had the Dark Mark. He was a Death Eater. He was probably using her in some way, using her to get to Harry. So many doubts flew through her mind, but one thing was sure: he had never loved her. She should have known that such an attractive man like Draco would never, _ever_ fall in love with a Mudblood like herself. She had fooled herself that their relationship was meaningful. But the thing that seemed to shake her most was the realization that she would have to kill Draco one day because he was on the Dark side, and she was on the Light. They would have to kill each other.

Flustered, panicked, unbalanced, she'd take any excuse. She could never forgive herself. She had never given him a chance to speak. Then again, how could she believe him now that she knew what he really was, that everything he had done and said to her were lies to get her to stray from her friends or her give information unknowingly to him?

But she couldn't tell anyone what he was. There was something there that had just kept her back. She wanted to tell him that, she would never tell his secret, just as long as he stayed away from her and her friends. That was one of the reasons why she wanted to talk to him. She knew there was another reason, but it had slipped her mind after he had yelled at her, saying such hateful things that he had not said in so long.

And it scared her because he looked genuinely forlorn and depressed. And his eyes were slightly puffy, eyes still glassy from tears that didn't have the opportunity to escape. It crushed her. It shattered her. And the hateful kiss they shared; she never forgot it, always a constant reminder of her bad choices, her consequence. When he had stormed off, he had broken her, absolutely crushed her heart into a thousand pieces.

She became distant from Harry after that, too disturbed with Draco to pay any attention to him. Harry had ended their relationship after she had confessed she couldn't continue with it. She had wanted to tell Draco her fake relationship with Harry was over, that it meant nothing, to try and get a little sliver of her old Draco back. And he had just walked away, leaving her standing there. Did he know he had taken all that was left of her heart with him? She was nothing afterwards. He was her everything.

She loved him, and Merlin did she regret all her mistakes that let him get away. She should have let him speak. He might have been truthful, might have been honest and admitted what was going on. Her empty soul longed for a fate that would let their hearts be joined together again, and it was all truth, all real.

Hermione covered her face with her hands and cried. She sobbed, recalling in anguish everything in her life that changed because of him. And then to see him so weak just a few minuets earlier! So weak when he was her strength…his strong posture had just collapsed when those horrid spasms attacked him, making his body shake and blood splatter from his mouth and coat his lips; his pitiful, helpless state was horrifying. His eyes…so deadly however beautiful. And for those eyes to suddenly loose all what little life they had in them…

Hermione jumped to her feat, hastily brushed her tears away and Apparated herself to the one man who would have answers for her.

"Dumbledore!" Hermione bellowed down the empty halls. She had to find the wise old man, so many questions were crowding in her brain. "DUMBLEDORE!"

"What, Hermione?" the old man said stepping out of his office.

"I need to talk to you," she said. He looked at her with concern but calmly motioned her into his room.

"What is it, Hermione?" Dumbledore said after settling himself in his plush chair behind his oak desk.

"It's…I met Draco Malfoy at the Three Broomsticks," she began. She noticed the old man become rigid.

"And we went for a walk. I--he--something happened to him," she ended quickly, blushing at remembering what had happened to him before he had vomited his own blood.

"Hermione, I knew what went on between you two," the old man informed quietly. Hermione glanced sharply at him. Of course, she should have known that nothing went behind the old man's back without his knowledge. After all, he was THE Albus Dumbledore.

Hermione breathed in deeply and recounted her story. She took a sharp breath, shaking her head. "I didn't know his wandless magic was this strong! Dumbledore, what are we going to do? He's so powerful! He's more powerful than the Dark Lord is! I know it! I saw a glimpse of it as I was transported back to my flat," Hermione wiped a tear away, trying to control her hysterical ramblings.

"Calm down, Hermione, calm down," the old man soothed.

"Calm down? CALM DOWN! I WILL NOT CALM DOWN! ARE YOU--" Hermione stopped suddenly when he looked at the man's old, tired face. "I'm sorry, Dumbledore. I've just been a little…stressed."

Dumbledore waved his hand as if telling her it was all right. "It's quite fine, Miss. Granger, absolutely normal. You are a little more controlled unlike Harry who prefers to throw objects around to punctuate his points."

"Headmaster," Hermione called quietly. The old man raised his eyebrows. "I…why is he like this? I know I should hate him because he's the enemy, but I can't help but feel pity." _And love…_she added silently.

"Ah…" Dumbledore sighed in thought. "To tell you the truth, Hermione, I'm not quite sure how he became so strong. But I can give a couple suggestions, if you would like." Hermione nodded her head and the Headmaster continued, "Yes, well, I guess I should have known when he was still in school, how he's grades were shooting far out of the ordinary. He'd instantly learn spells and be able to perform them without flaws, which I must say hadn't happened since Tom Riddle.

"But Draco had something in him that made him even more powerful than Tom. I regret to say that it was my fault for his rising. I should have confronted him, had Snape or someone talk to him. But I stepped aside, thinking he would get out of it, that he had enough senses to turn to the right path." The old wizard sat back and sighed, his eyes cloudy as he gazed into the distance.

"I think I have a faint idea what happened to Draco," Dumbledore said, drawing himself away from his thoughts. " His power comes from an inner emotion. A wizard grows in power in two ways: good or evil. The good and evil characteristics are based on his emotions. My guess is that he started out in darkness, and then I think you changed him. That is why he is so strong. He gains his power from both good and evil. And so, when they meet--his emotions--his body is incapable of handling such a force. It's torn up inside."

"So it's my fault he is like this," Hermione said dully, still trying to understand the reasoning.

"No. No one is to blame. Emotions, they just happen. Sure, things spark them, but it's up to you to let them grow or destroy them. In my opinion, Draco started off wanting power: the evil force. Yet, he grew to love you: the good force. He could destroy either one. Yet they both are so great and strong he cannot destroy them." Dumbledore reached over and grabbed a yellow candy wrapped in plastic.

"Lemon drop?" he asked casually.

"How you can calmly offer lemon drops to people during a middle of a war is beyond my understanding," Hermione remarked.

The old man smiled. "Just a secret between both of us, Hermione, these lemon drops are filled with a calming potion. I eat them whenever I get really stressed. Try one, there really not that bad."

"No thank you, Dumbledore. I have some thinking to do," she said silently getting up and leaving the room.

"Two forces, he is controlled by. Win, which one?" Dumbledore sat back in his chair, shaking his head, "I really must stop watching those Star Wars Movies…"

****

I can be your hero

I can kiss away the pain

Hermione sat quietly on a bench near the pond. Rain fell down lightly, wetting her cloak. She did no feel it. She was glad for the rain; it hid her tears. The cold wetness numbed her cold skin. She did nothing to find shelter from the rain, especially as it grew heavier and quicker. Her thoughts were on Draco. He shattered her heart when he left.

But why was he angry with her? They had said at the beginning that it would only be physical, not extremely serious, not love. They both agreed on that. Then how was it that she came to love him as much as she did? She could not go a day without thinking of him. For over three years he had haunted her dreams in some way or form. And when he just smirked at her coldly, walking off with the other destined Death Eaters, pain swept over her, and she could literally feel her heart shatter.

She'd do anything to erase what she had done, be given a second chance.

Suddenly, the rain stopped. Hermione glanced up and saw a black canopy covering her. A warm smile looked down at her. "I knew I would find you here."

"Hello, Harry," Hermione said distantly and returned her unfocused view at the pond before her.

"Hermione! You're drenched! Come along, come along, we'll get a cup of coffee or tea, whichever you prefer. Now, if I can remember that drying spell correctly… " Harry mumbled and instantly, Hermione was dry. Harry grabbed her hand and tugged it playfully. Hermione looked up at him and smiled. She wondered if he could tell it was fake.

He stopped smiling and looked down at her in concern. "You've been crying," he observed, touching her face. She looked away.

"What have you been crying about?" Harry asked silently.

"N-nothing." Hermione said quickly, stepping away from him and walking away.

"Hermione? Hermione! Come back!" Harry called. "Why won't you talk to me anymore?"

His voice sounded harsh, demanding and hurt. Hermione quickened her pace. If she could just pull herself together she could Apparate from him. An iron like grip tightened around her arm, making her frown in pain. "Let go of me, Harry."

"Not until you tell me what's been going on with you," Harry hissed in a low voice. "I want to know what happened to you after graduation, Hermione. You changed after the Death Eaters left. It was like you were sad to see them go. I mean, it was only the Slytherins, Malfoy---"

Harry stopped. Hermione looked away, trying to ignore his accusing glare. "Harry, just let me go."

"You…and him…you never looked at me and Ron like you did at Draco. He was looking straight at you. And all those times you were late for occasions, your clothes were messed up. I thought it was because you were napping or you were in a hurry or something. But you were with _him_ weren't you? WEREN'T YOU?" Harry bellowed. Hermione looked up at him, seeing the anger, disgust, betrayal and what seemed to be jealousy.

She clenched her teeth in anger. "And so what if I was with Draco, Harry? Yeah, we did get close, closer than you would expect your perfect friend to do. Surprised? Well Harry, you drove me to do it! I loved you! I really did. I loved you so much and to see you kissing that Cho after all she did to you! You promised me that you would never get involved with her! And I see her pulling you into a closet, a goofy look on your face. That hurt me, Harry!

"Ron didn't know it. He had no idea how I felt. Draco was the only one who knew that I loved you and knew how I felt. Yeah, Draco Malfoy, the boy who wished I was dead in our second year, the boy I slapped in third year, the boy who turned into a ferret fourth year, that Draco Malfoy. And he was the only person who actually noticed my depression. You and Ron were so busy with Quidditch and those dumb airheads that you probably wouldn't have realized I wasn't by your side until they had found my body lying cold in a ditch somewhere.

"He knew everything about me, it seemed. And he cared. He cared, Harry. He would ask me how my day went and we would actually talk without bringing up Quidditch and stupid things you boys talk about. And you know what, Harry? I love him. I still love him." A sudden weight was lifted off her chest and Hermione could breath again. For years she had felt suffocated. And now she was free to breathe, free to think, free to tell the complete truth.

"You _love_ Draco Malfoy? He's a Death Eater, Hermione!" Harry yelled in fury.

"Yes, I love him. I just told you that. And I know what he is! He's a good man! He didn't want to do it. He tried to tell me and I was so freaked out that I didn't let him speak. I should have let him speak. He gave me his Snitch, Harry, I know what that meant to you guys. I knew how much that meant to him. You only receive one and he gave it to Mudblood Granger," Hermione ended in a distant voice, thinking of that glorious game. _I did it for you…love Draco_. He loved her. He really did love her. She suddenly could see it, could see his love. All those glances before he had found her crying…they had been glances filled with love.

"I…I got to go, Harry," Hermione said and slipped her hand out of Harry's limp grasp.

"How could you do that? Ron and I noticed you. We always had, you know that." Harry squinted through his foggy lens glasses.

"How could I've know that when you never said anything to me, Harry?" Hermione whispered, angry tears cooling with the rain. He blinked and she was gone.

Draco laid in his bed. He had been so close to killing her. Yes, with Hermione Granger out of the way, he would have been free to do whatever he wanted. He would become more powerful without her lurking in his mind, stealing his thoughts. Without her, he would finally kill his old self and he'd become the cold, empty, emotionless Lord. But yet again, one look at her and his knees had buckled, his heart slowly mending itself together again. The pieces were small, but it had been piecing back as best as it could. She had seen him in his moment of weakness, and instead of just killing him, easing his pain, she had rushed to his side, concerned tears brimming her eyes. He could feel love radiating from her. But how could it be? She hated him! She made that clear that one night. She had destroyed him, taken away all the chances of him to do good. Yes, he was just imagining love…that was it, just imagining.

He slammed his hand against the drawer next to his bed, angry with her. Thoughts of her filled his mind. Lifting his wand to his temple, he pulled strands of silver from his head and then placed it in an open drawer where a silver pan glistened softly up at him. String after string of memory went into the pan. He looked down, looking at the memory before him.

There she and he were, standing in front of his room. He had just given her the Snitch. He could see her eyes widen in pleasure and surprise. He could see them kiss, her finding his mark, that ugly mark that even glared at him tauntingly through his memories. He slammed the drawer shut, locking it away. He whispered a spell that would prevent anyone from opening it.

Sighing, he leaned back on his bed, Hermione leaving his mind, for the time being anyway. Tonight was the downfall of the Dark Lord. He knew it; he could feel it! He smiled. _And I will be the new Dark Lord._

He chuckled at the possibilities, or the rewards he received. The door creaked open and Draco's wand was pointed dead centered in-between the eyes of the intruder.

"What is it, Blaise?" Draco demanded, upset that he was disturbed from his thoughts. Blaise looked at Draco's wand with a cynical look. Draco didn't lower it. "Well?"

"I was told to come get you. The Dark Lord wants everyone for a quick meeting before tonight's 'work'. "

Draco sighed, extremely frustrated with the old fart that controlled them. _Well, that'll all change tonight_, he thought happily.

"Leave. Now." Draco ordered, rubbing his temples.

Blaise made to leave. Draco could feel his presence. It was like he could see it in his mind. He saw Blaise bump into the desk near the door. He could see an antique picture frame made of the pure underside of mermaid scales fall to the ground. It was a one of a kind frame, never could be fixed if broken, worth millions and had belonged to him since his mother had died.

Draco opened his eyes quickly and pointed at the picture frame. While time still went in its usual pace, it seemed to slow just for the falling frame. Draco stopped it right before it hit the ground. Lifting his finger back up, he placed the frame back onto the table. He glared at Blaise who was staring at him with an open mouth.

"So it _is_ true. I didn't believe it at first, but--" Blaise was suddenly lifted off his feet and swung through the hair to be battered against the wall. The door slammed, making it impossible for someone to hear his screams since Draco's doors had always been sound proof.

Blaise gasped, looking with wide, scared eyes at the man below him. Blaise's arms and legs were pinned to the wall; his breaths were quick and sharp as if something was pressing against his chest.

"_Never_ speak of this to _anyone_," Draco ordered.

Blaise nodded. Draco turned around, letting his grip on Blaise go. The man hanging on the wall fell like a brick, smashing cruelly to the ground. Staggering to his feet, Blaise gripped anything in his reach to maintain his balance. "How long have you been able to do wandless magic?"

"A little over a year," Draco said as if telling him what the weather was like outside.

"You could be stronger than the Dark Lord!"

"No, dear Blaise. I _am_ stronger than Voldermort. Yes, I can say his name without flinching, unlike you it seems. Why should I fear a man that is both a disgrace and less powerful than I?" Draco smirked at Blaise's reflection in his mirror. "How did you think I could kill so many without leaving a trace?"

"How'd you get so strong?" Blaise against in marveled speechlessness.

Draco paused, taking the time to adjust his cloak that covered his one shoulder in an elegant manner. He faced Blaise, "I don't know, Blais. Come on, we'll be late."

Draco swept out of the room, and was followed a moment later by a pale, flabbergasted Blaise.

****

And I will stand by you forever

They crowded around the Dark Lord. The Death Eaters bowed low to the ground, all except one: Voldemort's right-handed man. Draco looked coldly at the ground, his thoughts torn between Hermione and his duty. After what seemed like an eternity she could change his life with just a smile, a touch. He hated her.

"Rise Death Eaters," the old tyrant said in a low voice. _And yet, I love her_, concluding his thoughts. Draco listened with a bored look on his face. Here Voldemort would give a little speech, trying to encourage his followers to rise and create havoc across the lands. Draco resisted the strong urge to snort and roll his eyes.

All the sudden, the closed doors burst open. Draco blinked and he instantly was hidden from view, observing the intruders and his fellow Death Eaters. He saw the grim look on almost everyone's face, as if saying, "Here we go again…"

Draco smirked happily. He saw his old school enemy, Potter, lead his men into the room. He noticed a red head standing close to him. He was still tall and lanky; Ron hadn't changed much. His eyes rested on Hermione. There she stood, ready for battle, an exhausted, tired look on her pale face. He longed to touch her face, make time turn back to see her smiling face, so full of life and color.

I could have given you everything…he thought silently as he watched her eyes dart around the room. Her brown eyes found him; they looked straight into his. Draco gasped. How could she see him? He was invisible, literally! A spell he had discovered while researching the Forbidden Dark Arts. Her eyes darted away from his when a voice cut through the thick silence.

"Ah! Mr. Potter, I was wondering when I'd run into you again," the reptilian man purred. He eyed Harry in anticipation like a predator who spies prey. Draco sneered silently. Draco could describe Harry's and Voldermort's relationship in one word: obsession.

"Avada--" Harry yelled but was cut short. He let go of his wand and clutched his hand in agonizing pain, as if it had burned him.

"Think again, Potter," Draco sneered, stepping out from behind the pillar and saying the charm to make him visible again. His eyes traveled from Potter and rested on Hermione again. He was incapable of not looking at her.

"Malfoy," Harry spat.

"Well, I can't have you going off and killing my Dark Lord, now could I?" Draco said pleasantly, enjoying the tormented look on Harry's face. Draco lifted the wand and pointed it at Harry, yet he muttered no charm. It was an allusion. Draco couldn't let everyone know his strength, not just yet.

With his free hand hidden inside the folds of his cloak, he shaped it in the form of a C and slowly drew his fingers inward. This was one of his favorite spells. Harry reached up to his neck and tried to pry away invisible fingers. He gasped for air, and his face started to turn a light shade of blue. Falling to his knees, he leaned forward, his body weakening and his glasses falling off his nose.

"STOP IT!" a deep, wild voice screamed. Suddenly, Draco was plowed over by a fiery red head. A warm fist collided with Draco's perfect face. Anger coursed through Draco at being touched. He slammed his hand against Ron's chest and watched the Weasel fly through the air to hit the opposite wall and fall to the ground in a pile of lanky arms, legs and bright red hair. There was a small scream that was cut short. Draco curled his lip in disgust at the weakling who cried. This was war; he thought they'd understand that by now.

Draco got to his feet, brushing his robes off and ignoring the urge to rub his bruised face. With a smirk, he looked at Hermione, wanting to see her reaction towards witnessing her two friends fall to his power. He was startled to look into sad eyes, pitying eyes. He glared at her and mouthed, "I hate you."

She blinked and turned her head slightly back and forth gesturing no. Draco's eyes widened slightly in surprise at her reaction.

He watched Harry get off the ground and he looked at him. His eyes were bright in anger. Potter's emerald eyes flickered to Hermione who had her brown eyes fixed on Draco. Potter glared at the blond haired Death Eater. _So he knows…_Draco thought silently.

"Quite entertaining, Draco," the Dark Lord praised. Draco nodded unconsciously, his eyes still locked with Hermione's.

"Now…Death Eaters," Voldemort stopped to make a dramatic pause. "Kill the other intruders lurking around my house. These wizards are like roaches."

There were quiet, panicked murmurs from the Light side as Death Eaters filtered out of the room, their black cloaks blowing lightly at their quick movements, their wands raised in eagerness of death.

"Ah…Draco, stay with me," the Lord urged.

"Yes, Master," Draco said.

"Which one, which one…" the old reptile like man hummed to himself. His red eyes searched through the crowd. They gleamed in an evil gleam as they stopped on a person. Draco followed his gaze, his breath hitching in his throat.

"You took my power's away, Harry Potter," Voldemort sneered his name, "And I take what you love."

A bright green light followed by a gust of wind filled the room. As the light faded, they heard a body fall limply to the ground. A deep male voice bellowed in agony, "NO!"

Harry jumped towards his falling friend, his wife. Draco watched as Hermione blink twice, trying to keep back the tears. "No! Ginny! No, you can't leave me…" Harry whispered softly to his wife.

Hermione bit her lip and closed her eyes. For once in a very long time, Draco could sympathize with Potter. He looked at Hermione, imagining her body falling to the ground and lying as limply and lifeless as the young Weasley girl.

"And the next!" Voldemort whispered, killing another body. Two more bodies fell before, each receiving a pitiful cry. Finally, the Dark Lord paused and breathed in deep. "And for the grand finale!"

Draco looked where the wand was pointed. He watched as Hermione's eye widened in fear, the first other emotion he saw glow from her. He watched her bravery slip slightly, revealing her terror behind her mask.

You can't watch her die! You can't let her die! A voice screamed to him.

I have no choice, he said bitterly. _I can't reveal my strength yet_.

Then what is the purpose of getting stronger when the ambition for your strength is dead? The first voice demanded savagely. Draco swallowed. _You love her, Draco. Admit it, you've always loved Hermione Granger. She saved you. You saved her, you were her hero._

Draco gasped, suddenly understanding his whole reason for power. He watched helplessly as the wand that had killed thousands summoned up its power to kill again. He saw it shake in its owner's hand. He watched the deadly green light gather at the tip of the wand.

"NO!" Draco yelled, running forward and blocking Hermione. His legs were filled with such a power, his heart almost bursting in dread for his lover's fate. Love consumed him, driving out the evilness and made his skin radiate a blinding white light.

Just in time…he thought as he felt the magic pierce him. It swept through him, tearing his insides up. He could feel it, but could not feel the pain. He fell back but caught himself. He looked down, seeing his skin glow an unearthly color.

"It was his love for Hermione that kept him alive," Dumbledore would later say, being one of the few left to witness Draco's transformation.

But in the present, Draco watched as the bright light mingled with the green light that was trapped inside his body. He was weakening with each passing second, yet the white light grew brighter. Draco smiled a bitter smile, _so this is what happens when you try and do good…you die_.

He looked up at Hermione, seeing her face streaked with tears for him, seeing her eyes wide in astonishment at his power, seeing her as the girl he once and still loved. _But in the end, it's worth it…_he told himself quietly as he gazed longer at her. _Take one last look, Draco._

Winking and giving his lover a cocky grin, Draco looked Harry straight in the eyes and gave him a smile, apologetic smile. Lacing his hands together, Draco had two index fingers pressed together, forming the sharp of a gun. He pointed his extended fingers at Harry's wand and shouted words that were or a language no one in that room had heard before, "_Dyte sylla nasechas!_"

The white light that made his skin and body glow suddenly shot out of him and into the wand. Harry moved automatically, pointing his wand at Voldemort and yelled, "AVADA KADAVERA!"

Blinding light fly from the wand, a mixture of green and silver. Gusts of wind blew everyone except Harry and Draco to the ground. It circled around Voldemort like a huge python and the tip of the light formed a large viper head. The snake opened his mouth, revealing sharp fangs that struck fast and hard. Voldemort didn't even have time to scream as the snake's poison dried his blood from his body and quickly decayed him. The magic snake disappeared, the room turned to its original dim color that seemed pitch black after the explosion of light. Harry fell to his knees, drained of energy. He turned his head to thank Draco. Draco wobbled slightly on his heels and fell back. He never hit the ground. Hermione's loving arms circled around him and held him close to her chest, right where he belonged.

****

You can take my breath away

He turned and looked up at her, his eyes slowly clouding. It was too fast for Hermione. She clutched on to him tighter. A tear fell from her eyes. All the possibilities they could have shared together…she felt nothing and she knew that soon all the grief would hit her so suddenly that she would not be able to cope with it. Already her heart was constricting with the slow realization that Draco would never catch a Snitch again, would never laugh, would never tease her again, would never do anything again.

Draco could see her anguish, her pain. He wanted to touch her face, but he was so weak. Already his vision was dimming. The sounds were growing distant and muffled. But he kept his eyes on her. If he was going to leave the world, he wanted the last thing he'd ever see to be Hermione. And the stern women he had met earlier faded, replaced by his own Hermione. The tight, pulled back hair was released, toppling around her shoulders in their soft waves, her red lips full, her face structure still perfect and delicate, her skin a natural, healthy color, her eyes filled with the warmth and life he had always remembered them being filled with. She was so beautiful. He inhaled, pausing for just a second, her beauty still stunning him.

****

I can be your hero

And he looked deep in her eyes, her dark brown eyes. Her eyes looked down at him filled with love. It wasn't the look she gave Ron or Harry, the look he wanted from her. It was the look of pure love, the love a person only gives to one person. And Draco Malfoy, Slytherin, archenemy, bully, cold-hearted, and the right handed man for the Dark Lord that almost brought the destruction of the world, had received Hermione Granger's true love. It was the look that told him that if he had asked her all those years ago to dance with her, she would grabbed his hand and lead him out to the dance floor. If he had asked her to run away with him, she would gave grabbed his hand and lead them away. If he had asked her anything, to be with him forever, she would have said yes.

And for once in his very short life, Draco Malfoy felt like a hero.

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**_Fin._**

A/N: Come on, be honest, you were thinking that our deal Old Draco would switch sides at the last second, revealing he was a spy, kill Voldie and marry Hermione, right? Well, sorry! I know, I suck…:::dodges rotten fruit that is chucked at poor author who just commits the crime of writing something, and of course, kills the main character::: Yes, I know…you really don't like me. But I like you anyway! besides! It's nice and long....::::runs from knifes and axes being thrown:::: Hey! I'm getting pretty good at this whole dodgeing thing....

And you know what? You can tell me how much you hate my guts by writing it in this fabulous thing called a Review. You can label yours a Howler for all I care, just as long as you write something. Please…?

Well, this is the end…now, would you have actually read all of it, do you think you would have read it if I had put it up all three chapters as a one-shot?

In case you want to check out some other stuff, I have a couple stories called _Fault_ and _Weep Not_ that are one-shots. Go give it a go, will you please? :::puppy eyes::::

WEIVER -- hold a mirror up to this and see what word you'll get….


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